26.1.10
High Street [and while we're at it- Low Space-Little Air-Disparate] Phoenix
Fever barely gone a few hours, cold still lingering, Nishant n Nishant decided the old gal needs an outing. After what seemed forever in the cash line (well, I spent all that time merely sitting somewhere on the shop floor - all tired n dizzy - with a woman who shouldered the mantle of redirecting people to the actual end of the line... which, my dears, is a terrible place to start at a sale).
I'm at the phoenix mills big bazaar. It's supposed to be the year's most inexpensive 4 days. Kids of mostly middle class folks are picking up absolutely anything they like n the parents look almost powerless-they're succumbing to these childish demands like they can do nothing about it. These kids should be made to earn just a month n then come here n shop. I just saw a TROLLY full of only cold drinks. Crazy litre n 2 litre bottles of coke n pepsi that looked like a tv campaign for the two joining hands or some such rubbish.
There's a man in front of me talking on his expensive HTC phone - he's travelling to singapore tomorrow. Not even a while ago, his wife ranted away about how some kg of rice n sugar is being distributed free with 5 kg of oil. The irony lies here- there are expensive food joints all around, hoping some of this crowd will spill into their traps too. Quite the contrary. We've never had it this easy getting a table at Maroosh. Despite all the Muslim n Parsi junta all around.
And I've never caught sight of so many outsiders - non-bambaiyyas in one ground. All vying to stock up for a couple of lazy months ahead. सब सड़ जायेगा सालों! It'll all pass expiry before you even touch it!
This is the Indian mall.
22.1.10
[ELE] [fan] [ta] [stic]
Geetha Durairajan, my prof-pal from Hyderabad was in Bombay since Saturday morning. Contrary to expectations, I ended up spending a substantial amount of time with her. Work schedules cleared out and people made space so I could loaf with a person I share the most bizzare-yet-special relationship.
And once more, I explored an element of Bombay (not literally, but associated) with yet another outsider. Even before we met, Gee had clearly indicated that she wanted to do Elephanta Caves on Sunday morning. The Marathon immediately rang alarm bells. But, I thought, there's gotta be a way around. There's always one where Gee's willed to go. So I jumped to accompanying her.
We were to meet over dinner with two other classmates the previous evening. Of course the other two wiggled out - or - ok, they couldn't make it. Honestly, the E Caves have always sounded like a hyped picnic spot meant for those who live in the suburbs or visiting the city on holiday. I would've probably never suggested the place to a guest I was hosting. But it became special in several ways.
First of all, it was Geetha I was accompanying. My first full length Bharatnatyam recital was with her. So was my first commercial play. Geetha has style - the kind that comes naturally to those who grow up like that. She was often the one to coax me to "dress up!" for an outing - especially events. To the extent, that for the Gujarati New Year in my MA-II, I decked up in a brand new green-bordered white cotton saree to go seek her blessings. She became my वडिल. She performed a little puja, my menstruation notwithstanding, and even organized breakfast! Quite frankly, it was more than would've happened at my own home in Baroda. The acceptance of me as me was unexpected and overwhelming all at once. I love to relate the story of how Gee 'n I became friends, but that is, as they say, another story. Back to our Elephanta trip.
My attraction to Bombay stems out of the fact that it is a sea facing metropolis. It is perhaps the same reason why I pine to visit (or rather stay in) Kolkata or even (now) Chennai ('cuz Pondicherry's just three hoursce). One of the things I did on the first empty weekend in the city was the half-hour ferry from Gateway. A full hour, no hurry to return, and the motive to reach another land, the notion of "commuting" even if for just pleasure was added attraction. To me, the sea is reminiscent of grim beauty, like the descriptions in the last act of Macbeth, or the Old Man and the Sea. The slow cradle of the catamaran induces so many feelings... If you're with an old friend, it feeds conversation; if you're alone, it shows you the nature of possibilities; if you are sad, it shows you happiness and if you are gleeful, it brings you back to your axis. It is humbling, it is peaceful and it is itself - in the most raw, unadulterated form. It shows you how potent the creator is and how powerless and miniscule you are in His scheme of things.
But one of the most humbling experiences of my visit to this 12th century establishment was the stone. Huge monoliths - slabs of stone turned into semi-intricate and symmetrical barriers, as if to prevent the casual onlooker from disturbing dark acts, or acts not meant to be spectated. Stone absorbs (/barricades) so much - energy, heat, sound, rain, noises - sound - voices... When Gee figured out the centre of Elephanta, she made me stand on the pedestal where it lay. It felt protected, though exposed to the elements; to the afternoon sun, to the midnight moon, to rains that must pour, to whirlwinds that must circulate within the walls of the hollow, to only those who must be willing and to yield to those who will.
Elephanta became a journey of the spirit. It became a travail, in which, though I was partnering somebody, I was on my own; though I had conversation to engage in, it was largely within; though its significance is jaded, our discoveries were our own. It was the first time I wanted to meditate - not with my eyes closed or sitting in a corner, secluded, but by just sitting quiet, watching the monkey take away my tetra pack of grape juice, deriving happiness in giving so little yet yielding satisfaction (almost glee) of robbed proportion.
Thanks Chintan, for insisting that Gee make the trip - not for the architecture, but for the energy.
And once more, I explored an element of Bombay (not literally, but associated) with yet another outsider. Even before we met, Gee had clearly indicated that she wanted to do Elephanta Caves on Sunday morning. The Marathon immediately rang alarm bells. But, I thought, there's gotta be a way around. There's always one where Gee's willed to go. So I jumped to accompanying her.
We were to meet over dinner with two other classmates the previous evening. Of course the other two wiggled out - or - ok, they couldn't make it. Honestly, the E Caves have always sounded like a hyped picnic spot meant for those who live in the suburbs or visiting the city on holiday. I would've probably never suggested the place to a guest I was hosting. But it became special in several ways.
First of all, it was Geetha I was accompanying. My first full length Bharatnatyam recital was with her. So was my first commercial play. Geetha has style - the kind that comes naturally to those who grow up like that. She was often the one to coax me to "dress up!" for an outing - especially events. To the extent, that for the Gujarati New Year in my MA-II, I decked up in a brand new green-bordered white cotton saree to go seek her blessings. She became my वडिल. She performed a little puja, my menstruation notwithstanding, and even organized breakfast! Quite frankly, it was more than would've happened at my own home in Baroda. The acceptance of me as me was unexpected and overwhelming all at once. I love to relate the story of how Gee 'n I became friends, but that is, as they say, another story. Back to our Elephanta trip.
My attraction to Bombay stems out of the fact that it is a sea facing metropolis. It is perhaps the same reason why I pine to visit (or rather stay in) Kolkata or even (now) Chennai ('cuz Pondicherry's just three hoursce). One of the things I did on the first empty weekend in the city was the half-hour ferry from Gateway. A full hour, no hurry to return, and the motive to reach another land, the notion of "commuting" even if for just pleasure was added attraction. To me, the sea is reminiscent of grim beauty, like the descriptions in the last act of Macbeth, or the Old Man and the Sea. The slow cradle of the catamaran induces so many feelings... If you're with an old friend, it feeds conversation; if you're alone, it shows you the nature of possibilities; if you are sad, it shows you happiness and if you are gleeful, it brings you back to your axis. It is humbling, it is peaceful and it is itself - in the most raw, unadulterated form. It shows you how potent the creator is and how powerless and miniscule you are in His scheme of things.
But one of the most humbling experiences of my visit to this 12th century establishment was the stone. Huge monoliths - slabs of stone turned into semi-intricate and symmetrical barriers, as if to prevent the casual onlooker from disturbing dark acts, or acts not meant to be spectated. Stone absorbs (/barricades) so much - energy, heat, sound, rain, noises - sound - voices... When Gee figured out the centre of Elephanta, she made me stand on the pedestal where it lay. It felt protected, though exposed to the elements; to the afternoon sun, to the midnight moon, to rains that must pour, to whirlwinds that must circulate within the walls of the hollow, to only those who must be willing and to yield to those who will.
Elephanta became a journey of the spirit. It became a travail, in which, though I was partnering somebody, I was on my own; though I had conversation to engage in, it was largely within; though its significance is jaded, our discoveries were our own. It was the first time I wanted to meditate - not with my eyes closed or sitting in a corner, secluded, but by just sitting quiet, watching the monkey take away my tetra pack of grape juice, deriving happiness in giving so little yet yielding satisfaction (almost glee) of robbed proportion.
Thanks Chintan, for insisting that Gee make the trip - not for the architecture, but for the energy.
12.1.10
Chaos Theory
Doesn’t it get on to your nerves when you just can’t decide one goddamn thing? All of a sudden, you turn into an indecisive nincompoop from being the determined, sorted hard-to-crack nut? That there are so many choices, you realise there’s no real choice at all! You stick to a rut just so you can avoid stepping out of line and be pinned down for an injury – whether ‘tis to yourself or another? You find yourself all alone, even though whatever may happen, you’ll still have a bunch’a people to love you and support you?
For every step you take, there’s a pothole waiting to suck you in and spit you out; your energy all drained and left to restore by unscrupulous means – means that you may never have explored, or even known. People from as varied backgrounds as each day in your life, doling advice (or worse yet, shooting questions) to which you may not be prepared or have the intellect to respond.
There is a heightened need within to “verbalise” everything I feel, sometimes to the point of hyperventilating. Like sophisticated melodrama – what an oxymoron! I’ve been told to not “think so much” but the point is, not everything you think needs to be blurted out. Even if someone asks. Even if it may take you somewhere in the scheme of things. All you’re doing is creating a more intricate mesh that appears to be impenetrable.
Verbalising yourself seems to give tough situations rigidity and concrete form that is more difficult to destroy, combat, knock off, mitigate, defy, resolve. Mr. Nilose spoke of clarity coming out of chaos at a conference held early last year for senior executives of the Heavy Engineering Division of L&T. Back then, the chaos was of noise, of what was tangible. This time, the chaos is within, and Mr. Nilose’s thought comes to the rescue.
As Aakash says to Sameer when the latter’s in a dilemma of how to tell Pooja that he loves her, in Dil Chahta Hai, “Mere bhai, kisi ko kuch matt bol! Tera koi bharosa nahin – aaj Pooja, kal koi duja!”
For every step you take, there’s a pothole waiting to suck you in and spit you out; your energy all drained and left to restore by unscrupulous means – means that you may never have explored, or even known. People from as varied backgrounds as each day in your life, doling advice (or worse yet, shooting questions) to which you may not be prepared or have the intellect to respond.
There is a heightened need within to “verbalise” everything I feel, sometimes to the point of hyperventilating. Like sophisticated melodrama – what an oxymoron! I’ve been told to not “think so much” but the point is, not everything you think needs to be blurted out. Even if someone asks. Even if it may take you somewhere in the scheme of things. All you’re doing is creating a more intricate mesh that appears to be impenetrable.
Verbalising yourself seems to give tough situations rigidity and concrete form that is more difficult to destroy, combat, knock off, mitigate, defy, resolve. Mr. Nilose spoke of clarity coming out of chaos at a conference held early last year for senior executives of the Heavy Engineering Division of L&T. Back then, the chaos was of noise, of what was tangible. This time, the chaos is within, and Mr. Nilose’s thought comes to the rescue.
As Aakash says to Sameer when the latter’s in a dilemma of how to tell Pooja that he loves her, in Dil Chahta Hai, “Mere bhai, kisi ko kuch matt bol! Tera koi bharosa nahin – aaj Pooja, kal koi duja!”
9.1.10
Bad Day
Yesterday was rotten; by far, one of the worse days at office. I wanna thank Mummy here, for bringing the workplace into perspective for me. No, I didn’t speak to her or anything, but it’s something I learnt from her over the period of our acquaintance or a year and a half.
Don’t bring work home.
And of course also thought of her later in the evening.
Here’s an excerpt of my gleeful chat with Neel this morning:
Priyanca: something wonderful happened last evening
Neel: ?
Priyanca: after leaving, i just switched off my cell and was expecting to cry it out or sleep- in the bus and then
once i reached hostel, some more
instead i remembered i had my crochet to finish
so i did that
Neel: so can i see it?
Priyanca: and then i reached hostel and....
[then i rattled off my entire day's crap to the poor chap]
i went to my pal's place
cooked pasta
and we drove all the way to haji ali juice centre at half past 12 and had their strawberry fruit cream (it is yummy personified)
life is too blissful to call even a bitch this morning
:D
Neel: :)
Priyanca: you should try the Haji Ali Juice Centre ka fruit cream man...
it beats any, i mean ANY dessert any day
it's so good it's not funny
I first had the delectable fruit cream at the IT guest house at Somer Villa just a couple of blocks away. I couldn’t do it much justice thanks to the sumptuous food there and the absolute lack of space in my tummy. But all that’s changed thanks to Nishant. When I’m eating with him, my tummy seems to miraculously expand to accommodate everything on the platter. Half a dinner after dinner and then the fruit cream helping to top it. I really didn’t think I’d be able to finish it. But the fresh figs and the fresh strawberries… But for Ma, I’d’ve never ended up sampling the delicacy ever.
I’ve wanted to get back there for ages, but never had inclination, or it just never happened for some reason or another. And the shop’s huge, not missable. And it’s right there at the Haji Ali junction. How can you ever pass the place without either gobbling up some of that godly fruit cream, or at least packing it for a romantic night ahead? They’ve redefined strawberries-’n-cream into a whole new dimension.
The effects of the dessert have been overwhelmingly miraculous. I’ve been thinking so positively and the day’s been progressing on a note of absolute optimism. All of this to result in my raking up courage enough to send some blah draft of a direct mailer to my boss, face him after yesterday after all the shit he gave me, and even coolly hand over work to the department biatch.
Even chocolates that the company union distributed today – which I thought was crazy – cheered me more. The ostentation could kill you; everyone is bubbling with joy about it around here… but that, my dearios, is another topic.
Don’t bring work home.
And of course also thought of her later in the evening.
Here’s an excerpt of my gleeful chat with Neel this morning:
Priyanca: something wonderful happened last evening
Neel: ?
Priyanca: after leaving, i just switched off my cell and was expecting to cry it out or sleep- in the bus and then
once i reached hostel, some more
instead i remembered i had my crochet to finish
so i did that
Neel: so can i see it?
Priyanca: and then i reached hostel and....
[then i rattled off my entire day's crap to the poor chap]
i went to my pal's place
cooked pasta
and we drove all the way to haji ali juice centre at half past 12 and had their strawberry fruit cream (it is yummy personified)
life is too blissful to call even
:D
Neel: :)
Priyanca: you should try the Haji Ali Juice Centre ka fruit cream man...
it beats any, i mean ANY dessert any day
it's so good it's not funny
I first had the delectable fruit cream at the IT guest house at Somer Villa just a couple of blocks away. I couldn’t do it much justice thanks to the sumptuous food there and the absolute lack of space in my tummy. But all that’s changed thanks to Nishant. When I’m eating with him, my tummy seems to miraculously expand to accommodate everything on the platter. Half a dinner after dinner and then the fruit cream helping to top it. I really didn’t think I’d be able to finish it. But the fresh figs and the fresh strawberries… But for Ma, I’d’ve never ended up sampling the delicacy ever.
I’ve wanted to get back there for ages, but never had inclination, or it just never happened for some reason or another. And the shop’s huge, not missable. And it’s right there at the Haji Ali junction. How can you ever pass the place without either gobbling up some of that godly fruit cream, or at least packing it for a romantic night ahead? They’ve redefined strawberries-’n-cream into a whole new dimension.
The effects of the dessert have been overwhelmingly miraculous. I’ve been thinking so positively and the day’s been progressing on a note of absolute optimism. All of this to result in my raking up courage enough to send some blah draft of a direct mailer to my boss, face him after yesterday after all the shit he gave me, and even coolly hand over work to the department biatch.
Even chocolates that the company union distributed today – which I thought was crazy – cheered me more. The ostentation could kill you; everyone is bubbling with joy about it around here… but that, my dearios, is another topic.
5.1.10
Yummy Chappals
Alright, alright, I'll cut to the chase - I bought this new pair of footwear off Warden Road. Now what's the big deal about buying new chapps? Women buy chapps all the time and I'm no exception. The delight lies in the brand, comfort and the way the pair looks and the material of which it is made. Moreover, the place I got it from is the most unlikely for great footwear.
Cenzere, the tiny hole I got them from, is known for inexpensive trendy footwear that you can sport to work or college or casually, and pass on to the bai in two months. It is not meant to last. It is not meant to generate sentiments such as envy or scorn. Just fun footwear would be an ideal tagline for the place. Twako picked up a comfortable pair when she was here the first time around.
I was walking down that road to get a new charger for my cell phone. No particular agenda other than that, decided to walk into the shop for some idle time-killing. For those of us who are aware of the comfort of the Dr. Scholl's line of footwear from Bata, I was gonna buy off a copy of something of the sort for a fraction of the price of the original, and quite smart with heels too. Lovely beige. Only, size for us monsters has always been a burning issue. "Nai... Madam ismein toh aapka size nai hai," the sales guy said.
Crestfallen only I was.
Then the chap's stance brightens as he suggests, "Original dikhaoon?" I thought original bandar toh I'm looking at only. What else original you'll show me? I was like..."nai... nai..." nodding my head like a moron, as if to prevent me from entering any deal. I was lured. Pakka. But then this guy unearthed the most beautiful pair of chappals. They're huge. There's nothing feminine about them. BUT THEY ARE SO COOL.
And they look like vanilla ice cream with a dollop of dark chocolate on top! YUMMY.
The most wonderful part of the sales guy's spiel was his honesty! The lower most layer of the sole was lovely soft rubber... I kept trying to punch mini cracks into it with my nails and eventually (at the end of the five minutes of the pitch) began simply using it as acupressure equipment for my finger tips. The middle portion is cork, well glass-papered on the sides unlike the Indian versions and neatly finished with a buff leather insole fitted snugly inside the slight scoop that cover the foot. The funniest part came when the lad was describing the top portion.
"Washable hai yeh, Madam!" I was like... you mentioned leather someplace earlier in your pitch, dude, if this be washable, then how this be leather? "Arre Madam [I love that word, man!], yeh itna comfortable material hai, lekin hum laate hain, humko bhi nahin pata kya material hai!" I wanted to laugh, but his honesty struck me.
That last statement sold the shoe. I haggled a bit - "580 mein le lo, Madam!" he said to my appeal for 500 bucks. Apeal won. He sold a pair of original Berkenstocks for peanuts. Germany to my feet, this pair has had an interesting journey, I want to think.
4.1.10
Doesn't Work for Me
Ever heard of a senior colleague hankering for your attention for no particular reason? Well, at least not on the surface. And in the process, making a royal arse of himself? Or herself, as the case may be. And then behaving uppity about it as if you were at fault for not looking in the right direction because he is "not your friend," but a "senior"?
I am angry. And this post will be my vent. You may call it immature, impulsive, and impish and other IMs, but it has bothered me in instalments the past 11 months and is one of the few things that I want to share for the simple reason that it seems to happen to a lot of us, but most keep mum about it.
No, this doesn't qualify as harassment, but verges on it.
Who authorises this person to call after-hours or on holidays? Why does he need my presence in his subconscious existence? Why does it bother him so much that I don't care a fuck about him? How does it matter that a novice in the profession, not only in the organization, judges him at all, and then harshly?
What defines cordial professional relations? Especially in a set up like ours, which on the ground level is half an agency, and on a parent level, is as blue blooded a corporate as any other? More importantly, who draws the line between professional and working relationship? I have friends form work, for fuck's sake! People more my own than my own relatives. Must we confine ourselves to work, gossip and cribbing alone at work? Is that the extent of a professional association? If one is always allowed to choose one's friends, then why can't one also choose to withdraw from them when things go awry? Why is talking always considered a solution? Why is silence scorned upon?
What are the qualifiers for respect at the workplace? Age? Years in the institution? productivity? Personal relations? Accolades? The ability to impart what you know selflessly and not claim stake in another's achievement?
It is inconsequential to me that this human being chooses to attribute so much importance to a junior - much junior subordinate. What bothers me is his way of dealing with it. irrespective of his personal problems, which I was chosen to be privy of first hand, and which also add to my low opinion of the distinguished personality that he is, I choose to keep my distance from a person who will try to get too close too soon, over alcohol, and say mean things under its effects at bedtime over phone. I think this is perhaps the only human being I’ve had to "deal with" in Bombay. And it feels bad.
I am angry. And this post will be my vent. You may call it immature, impulsive, and impish and other IMs, but it has bothered me in instalments the past 11 months and is one of the few things that I want to share for the simple reason that it seems to happen to a lot of us, but most keep mum about it.
No, this doesn't qualify as harassment, but verges on it.
Who authorises this person to call after-hours or on holidays? Why does he need my presence in his subconscious existence? Why does it bother him so much that I don't care a fuck about him? How does it matter that a novice in the profession, not only in the organization, judges him at all, and then harshly?
What defines cordial professional relations? Especially in a set up like ours, which on the ground level is half an agency, and on a parent level, is as blue blooded a corporate as any other? More importantly, who draws the line between professional and working relationship? I have friends form work, for fuck's sake! People more my own than my own relatives. Must we confine ourselves to work, gossip and cribbing alone at work? Is that the extent of a professional association? If one is always allowed to choose one's friends, then why can't one also choose to withdraw from them when things go awry? Why is talking always considered a solution? Why is silence scorned upon?
What are the qualifiers for respect at the workplace? Age? Years in the institution? productivity? Personal relations? Accolades? The ability to impart what you know selflessly and not claim stake in another's achievement?
It is inconsequential to me that this human being chooses to attribute so much importance to a junior - much junior subordinate. What bothers me is his way of dealing with it. irrespective of his personal problems, which I was chosen to be privy of first hand, and which also add to my low opinion of the distinguished personality that he is, I choose to keep my distance from a person who will try to get too close too soon, over alcohol, and say mean things under its effects at bedtime over phone. I think this is perhaps the only human being I’ve had to "deal with" in Bombay. And it feels bad.
2.1.10
Pee-hai New Year
Spending New Year’s Eve in Bombay was strange. Didn’t think I’d miss nothing and no one at all. It was exactly how i wanted it to be. The booze was just right; the setting was quiet; the laughter all there; the company was better than the best; and the cold too played its part. Add to this the most important two ingredients - maa ka khana and a comfy bed to retire.
Who made it all happen?
Padma.
To not meet someone for two years; barely stay in touch and not crossing paths simply cuz home was both our calling at the same bloody time. And then when it does happen, it's like the old times. Nostalgia couldn’t have come at a better time. It is not my style, but this was just beyond material worth. The laughter, the randomness, exchanging titbits, letting each other be.
We never realise why we value some people and being with them. They just allow you to be. To exist. Followed up with a drink and some black forest pastry. And koshambari and authentic fresh-off-the-tawa paranthas with the ever indulgent Guptaji-ka-achaar. There is no malice, no criticism, yet they know you like the back of their homes. Or their allergies.
I Googled "fruit diet" and Law and Kenneth, Facebooked and Gtalked and checked all my mail, and burst crackers with auntie and spoke to different people at different times on the phone and even saw the lunar eclipse overhead as it wound up for the night. Just not the things I can do in anybody's home. It is not detachment. It is what I term space. Complete, unadulterated.
Pam n I talked for the longest time the night before last. About everything that's been going right in our lives. She put a lot of my fears at bay. She reminded me I wasn't the only one harbouring them. And in that rain check, I have found out what her place is in my life. Thanks Pam, for being the woman who tells me time and again, "Chal baith ja! You’re not the only one!"
SOME ASIDES:
Panvel is nothing like it was on my last visit. ONGC's done its bit and there were no giant insects the size of mini Godzillas. The hills make a remote view and the noise is just as consistent as Bombay proper. It is hinterland no more.
Pam was supposed to return my mother's shawl that ma gave her to wear three years back on her way back from our place late one evening. Now I’ve left my cell-phone charger there also. I know, PUppy shame shame!
MY NEW YEAR GIFTS: a pair of LARGE green earrings set in white metal and a chunky neck-piece from a flee-market in Goa, Dil Toh Bachcha Hai Ji from Ishqiya, a set of pictures from Vipul Arora and a loved one arriving from another distant land next weekend.
Who made it all happen?
Padma.
To not meet someone for two years; barely stay in touch and not crossing paths simply cuz home was both our calling at the same bloody time. And then when it does happen, it's like the old times. Nostalgia couldn’t have come at a better time. It is not my style, but this was just beyond material worth. The laughter, the randomness, exchanging titbits, letting each other be.
We never realise why we value some people and being with them. They just allow you to be. To exist. Followed up with a drink and some black forest pastry. And koshambari and authentic fresh-off-the-tawa paranthas with the ever indulgent Guptaji-ka-achaar. There is no malice, no criticism, yet they know you like the back of their homes. Or their allergies.
I Googled "fruit diet" and Law and Kenneth, Facebooked and Gtalked and checked all my mail, and burst crackers with auntie and spoke to different people at different times on the phone and even saw the lunar eclipse overhead as it wound up for the night. Just not the things I can do in anybody's home. It is not detachment. It is what I term space. Complete, unadulterated.
Pam n I talked for the longest time the night before last. About everything that's been going right in our lives. She put a lot of my fears at bay. She reminded me I wasn't the only one harbouring them. And in that rain check, I have found out what her place is in my life. Thanks Pam, for being the woman who tells me time and again, "Chal baith ja! You’re not the only one!"
SOME ASIDES:
Panvel is nothing like it was on my last visit. ONGC's done its bit and there were no giant insects the size of mini Godzillas. The hills make a remote view and the noise is just as consistent as Bombay proper. It is hinterland no more.
Pam was supposed to return my mother's shawl that ma gave her to wear three years back on her way back from our place late one evening. Now I’ve left my cell-phone charger there also. I know, PUppy shame shame!
MY NEW YEAR GIFTS: a pair of LARGE green earrings set in white metal and a chunky neck-piece from a flee-market in Goa, Dil Toh Bachcha Hai Ji from Ishqiya, a set of pictures from Vipul Arora and a loved one arriving from another distant land next weekend.
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